


a person of simple tastes

by stubbleglitter (maggie)



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Rough Sex, Sleeps With Everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-07
Updated: 2003-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:19:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggie/pseuds/stubbleglitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he's the most low-maintenance guy he knows. no, seriously!</p>
            </blockquote>





	a person of simple tastes

**Author's Note:**

> warning: jc sleeps with everyone, rough sex, bondage

If there was one thing JC had always prided himself on, it was knowing what he wanted.

He'd wanted to be a singer. Well, actually, he'd wanted to be an engineer or an architect, but then he wanted to be a singer. After taking that bet from his friend. And, um, after happening to try out for the Mouse Club. Oh, and once the MMC disbanded -- well, okay, maybe being a singer hadn't been top of his list. But once he'd _decided_ to become a singer -- well then, mister, look out.

So maybe he got what he wanted after a little bit of roundabout, but he still got there. He looked the way he wanted to look, had a disciplined body that performed the way he wanted to, had the means and motivation to make music the way he wanted to, had a savings account that could safely take him through to age six hundred if he chose to live that long, had every Sting B-side and bootleg imaginable.

It was time to find somebody to go along with that.

...

JC sat down carefully one evening with meditation music on and closed his eyes, clearing his mind of the day's troubles and concerns. He took a few deep breaths, smelling the cedary scent of his cologne and the latte he'd just finished, and tried to concentrate.

The music crescendoed into a frenzy of birdcalls and JC opened one eye, alarmed. The birds squalled a bit more and then settled, and he tried to regain his peaceful state of mind. He had important things to mull over. He had to decide what exactly it was he wanted, and who would be the best person to get that result from, and _jesus_ what the hell were those birds _doing_, flying into airplane engines?

The meditation CD flung into his bathroom sink, JC sat back down and closed his eyes, smiling and bobbing slightly to the rhythmic thumping of his favourite collection of world drumbeats.

Now. What he wanted. It was simple, really -- he wanted a really, _really_ good fucking. JC was a person of simple tastes, when you got down to it. Uh, when you discounted the number of spangled and sparkled things in his wardrobe, but everybody was entitled to have one area of excess, right? In all other things, he was a person of simple tastes. He didn't ask for a love to end all loves, or his true soulmate, or a whirlwind romance. He wasn't Justin, after all.

JC snickered uncharitably for a moment before deciding that mocking a friend's sappy Harlequin heart was bad for the purpose of visualization and assertion, and directed his thoughts back to himself. It made sense to start with people he knew, of course. They were the most accessible, they would be the most amenable. He wasn't interested in fuckbuddies, per se; he wanted something deeper, an abiding fondness and affection -- but mostly just mind-blowing sex.

Smiling, JC drummed his fingers along with the beat and chose.

...

Joey was the clubbiest person JC'd ever known. There were times when the rest of them were drooping with exhaustion and annoyance and just plain bad spirits after appearances and whatnot, when they couldn't wait to just get back to the hotel room or home and snarl and sleep in private, and Joey would still be ready to hit the nearest club and bust the dance floor all night.

And the fucker could _dance_, JC had to give him that. He didn't even seem to care who he danced with, because when JC started rubbing up against Joey during "Gossip Folks" Joey just raised his arms, made his dancer-face and ground hard across JC's hips with his own.

"Feelin' dirty, C?" he asked, grinning, and JC leaned in close enough to smell sweat. It reminded him of performances, holding Joey's hand on stage, leaning up against him, and there was an instant push of hardness in his pants, remembered adrenaline spurting through his veins.

"You know it, boy," JC purred, letting his face rub against Joey's, damp hair first and then their cheeks scraping across each other, one fleeting touch of the corner of JC's mouth to Joey's wet skin. When he pulled back, Joey was staring at him, speculation in his deep eyes, and then that grin. That dazzling, smirking, oh-so-fucking hot Joey grin that JC couldn't help but return.

Joey's hand slid into the small of JC's back and gave him a push, then adjusted pressure so that he was guiding JC, off the crowded thump of the dance floor and back into one of the vip rooms. A couple of people were there, some no-name creeps who JC'd seen hanging out with Cameron Diaz once at an MTV thing, and Joey bared his teeth at them and suggested they go buy themselves some drinks, and the last time JC had seen anybody scamper so fast was ...actually, he couldn't think of anything, what with Joey pushing him down onto the leather chaise-thing and biting at the cords of his neck.

Wriggling slightly, JC pulled off his shirt and did the same for Joey, soaked through with sweat. His hands slipped on Joey's shoulders and it felt good, all that hot wetness and his shoulderblades knifing and sticking against the leather underneath him, and Joey's hair smelled like smoke and incomparable warmth, hot like hell.

"What's got you so jumped up, anyway?" Joey asked against JC's arched chest, pausing to kiss and lick just under one nipple. "Somebody slip some Spanish Fly in your mai tai?"

"Shut up, man, no." JC clutched at Joey's belt and wrenched it open, cheap piece of shit anyway, he could get another one if he wanted it. Joey's cock was hard and long behind his zipper and JC wanted that, wanted it in his hands, filling his palms, heavy on his tongue. "Jesus, I just want you, you're damn sexy, Joe, so sexy." JC's fingers skidded over Joey's belly and he bit back an instinctive grimace and decided to concentrate on the good, the big sturdy dick that he finally got free and was stroking, up and down.

Joey, who he really should have known would notice, gave a derisive snort and, bless him, just pulled JC up while he leaned back, guiding JC's eager head down between his legs. "Sure, whatever. Fuck, like I'd turn you down when you're in heat, Chasez." JC felt a pang of regret and resolved to make it up to Joey, who after all couldn't help what his genetic material dictated and whose cock felt _insanely_ good when JC sank his mouth down on it, salt and bitter hitting the back of his throat almost instantly.

The leather chaise-thing creaked encouragingly under them as JC rocked his mouth over Joey's cock, every moan and gasp that Joey made shooting jolts through his brain, twisting little fireworks off in his hips. Seeing Joey like this, sprawled out under him with complete abandon, hips jerking up while one hand curled against the side of JC's face, nearing tender, was completely unexpected and intensely erotic. Joey was always exuberantly open about the needs of the flesh, but this was the first time JC had experienced that firsthand. He let his jaw go slack, preparing to let the head of Joey's cock push deeper into his throat, but Joey caught hold of him and pulled him away.

"Joey, what -- " JC had time to say before Joey was lunging over him, lapping at his mouth and wasn't _that_ the nastiest hottest thing, Joey licking the taste of himself from JC's slick lips, and then Joey was bearing down and pushing his cock against JC's bare stomach. He opened JC's pants, pulling out his dick, and pushed harder, their cocks rubbing and pulsing across sticky-hot flesh, scrubby hair, everything concentrated on Joey's deliciously heavy weight on JC, his hair mussed and wonderful under JC's fingers, their cocks sliding against each other with the fucking _bump bump bump_ of the bass outside, and when JC came it was under Joey's shouted release.

"Should I buy you a drink for that?" Joey asked, teasing, when their breathing went slightly back to normal and JC was wondering if he'd even be able to peel himself off the chaise-thing's leather when Joey got up.

"No, let's -- let's go get something to eat, man," he suggested, breathing in the smell of sweat and sex, letting it soak into him. "Denny's or something, my treat."

Joey laughed and shifted, sitting up, and JC was surprised to find himself disappointed that the heaviness on his lungs and thighs was gone. "Thanks, I'll pass," Joey said, patting JC's calf. "I'm watching my weight."

...

The next time they went clubbing, Chris was with them and he raised an eyebrow when Joey laughingly ordered JC a mai tai. "Goin' pussy on us there, Jayce?" he asked, poking JC in the arm, which really hurt more than JC liked to let on. Chris was alarmingly strong and didn't realize it half the time.

JC shrugged and smiled in what he hoped was an enigmatic fashion, and Joey just laughed some more, refused to explain, and went off to dance with a girl with big boobs who looked like she wasn't sure how to dress herself yet. Watching them for a bit, JC noticed that Joey was sliding his hips along the girl in a very familiar way, a very leading-up-to-the-vip-room kind of way. He frowned and turned back to Chris, about to ask him if Joey danced that way with _everybody_ and not just those he found surprisingly hot after having known them for years and years, but Chris was on the phone and wasn't paying attention.

Sipping his mai tai -- which was too sweet but after all, was a free drink -- JC frowned some more and wondered if perhaps he needed to re-evaluate.

...

"See, this is what I think should happen." JC extracted a thin stack of index cards from his bag, tapping them against the table to straighten them and then staring at the first one. He stared for a full fifteen seconds before he began to suspect that somebody -- Tara, maybe, or Dallas, he had a weird sense of humour -- had fiddled with his stuff. But no, it was his handwriting on the card.

"Well?" Lance prompted, sounding more amused than any person who took his pet on a psychic show had any right to be. He sipped his decaf nonfat half-soy latte thing smugly while JC thinned his eyes and scowled at the index card.

"I, um," JC said. He supposed he'd hazard a try and squinted at the card appraisingly. "I believe it would be...advantageous to both of us if we centered...um, if we _entered_...it would be...mutantall -- no, mutually --" JC stopped and put the card down with a sigh. "Look, dude, I can't read my notes. My handwriting gets really bad late at night and that's when I wrote them down, so, yeah. I think it would be nice if we slept together."

He was rewarded for this forthright approach by the vindictively satisfying sight of Lance choking on his fancy latte. "You think -- what?" Lance asked, wiping milk from the corner of his mouth, his forehead furrowing in disbelief. "This is your big proposal that you wanted to discuss with me?"

"Yes," JC said, picking up his coffee in a dignified manner. "Why, what did you think I was gonna say?"

Lance shrugged. "I don't know -- something about music, or production, or hell, shrimp fishing -- anything, just not _that_."

"Well, if you're not interested," JC began, gathering up his little cards. Lance lifted his cup to his lips, not looking at JC, and murmured, low into the steam, "Now, who said I wasn't interested?"

...

It seemed that one's friends could still surprise one, even after years of touring together and living practically on top of each other for those years. It seemed that JC had underestimated just how interested Lance was in having a tight grip on the reins.

"You really are a control freak, aren't you?" he asked, slightly breathless. Except for once with Bobbie, being blindfolded was new for JC. And he had the lingering suspicion that Bobbie had only done it because she'd been annoyed with him and wanted to roll her eyes while she was riding his dick. JC's life was full of unconfirmed suspicions. It made him kind of sad.

Lance's hand pressed briefly against his forehead, tipping his head back, and JC let his mouth pant open. He twisted his wrists experimentally, finding he liked the feel of the leather cuffs, the rough unfinished side scratching bullish against his skin. The chair Lance had tied him to was a plain one, but JC felt comfortable enough. In fact, the most uncomfortable part of him was the tightness in his balls.

"Lance..." he said unsurely, and then Lance's weight settled down on top of him, skin against skin and Lance's thighs stretched out over his lap. JC groaned as their cocks bumped together and Lance leaned in, one short kiss and then a bite, another, a series of sharp-toothed bites all over JC's swollen mouth.

"This is good," Lance said, and the honey-dipped timbre of his voice made JC shiver, the wooden back of the chair scraping. "You have got _no_ idea how good you look, JC, all helpless and wanting it. You want it, right?"

JC worried at a corner of his lip and nodded, and Lance's fingers moved to one of his nipples and gave it a sharp twist. JC gasped, freezing still, and Lance ordered, "Tell me how much you want it."

"Please, Lance," JC breathed, "I want it. I want it so bad, so bad." The sound of himself saying it, begging with that desperate rasp, made his voice break with desire, crack cleanly down the middle.

"Whaddyou want, JC?" Lance asked smoothly, leaning in enough to bend his taut stomach against JC's bobbing cock. JC scrunched his eyes behind the blindfold and licked his lips.

"Suck me," he said, moving his head forward until his mouth bumped against Lance's chin. He angled up so his lips moved against Lance's when he said it again, deep and wanton, "I want you to suck my cock, Lance. I wanna feel your mouth on me, I wanna come inside your mouth, please, please get me off, please."

It was Lance's turn to catch his breath and he bit at JC's mouth again, licking against his tongue until JC slipped his forward suppliantly. Lance caught it, sucking JC's tongue into his mouth until JC whimpered and Lance swallowed the fluttery noises.

Then Lance was sliding down, slithering down JC's body until his mouth was nestled against the base of JC's cock, breathing warm and damp on his skin. JC held his breath and opened his eyes behind the blindfold, waiting, waiting with every muscle tensed for Lance to move, to do _something_. His body felt stretched taut, quivering bowstring instead of tendons and Lance still wasn't doing anything but breathing, his fingertips ruffling little circles against JC's legs.

"_Please_, honey..." JC whispered, and then there were tiny little licks against his dick, flickers of wet serpentine heat that just made him writhe frenziedly, wanting more pressure, more heat, more sucking wetness. Lance lengthened the swipe of his tongue into taller stripes, still with the almost-cold pointed tip, firm and deliberate. JC found himself lapsing into a steady murmured stream of _pleasepleaseplease_ before Lance softened his tongue out, laving it broad and flat along JC's penis, sloppy and devouring with no delicacy, spit-slick, pornographic.

"Oh god, yes." JC flicked his wrists haplessly when Lance wrapped his burning-hot lips around the head of JC's cock, tongue warm and encompassing, and then slid slowly down along the length of it. Lance didn't stop until he'd swallowed it all, then back up, then down again, faster, shallower but with more sucking and the occasional deep plunge. JC panted and wrenched at the cuffs, desperate to touch Lance's hair, his skin, his own cock, anything, but the cuffs held strong and Lance was mercilessly sucking him to oblivion.

He could hear Lance jerking off, too, one hand wrapped around JC's cock and the other around his own, and the idea of that made JC bite down on his tongue to keep from howling when he came, jerky spurts as his hips raised helplessly from the chair and the cuffs left deep red marks in his wrists. Lance came too, a little while after, a heavy low groan that JC was only dimly aware of through his own panting.

Lance rested his forehead against JC's knee for a moment, then stood up and shakily untied him, undid the blindfold. JC opened and closed his mouth as if he'd been gagged and drew Lance over to the bed, where they crawled under the covers and lay there, on their backs, blinking at the ceiling.

"What you were expecting?" Lance asked, after a while. JC thought about that and realized that he hadn't really had any expectations, but he figured that might be rude to say, so instead he said, "Eventually." Which didn't make sense, much, once he pondered it in detail, but had in the moment before he said it.

Lance seemed unperturbed, though, and just grunted. "Yeah, me too," he said, then turned on his side and fell asleep.

JC suspected that Lance had no idea what he'd agreed with, but he went to sleep anyway.

...

He was eating barbecued hotdogs over at Justin's house when Chris and Justin came and sat down with him, both of them leaning intently across the table. JC licked mustard from the corner of his mouth and munched slowly, staring back.

"So," Chris said finally, and Justin echoed, "so."

JC sighed and put down his hot dog. "Yes?" he asked, irritated. "What's this about?"

Chris raised an eyebrow and Justin made an incredulous noise. "Um, hello?" Justin said, waving one hand. "What else would it be about? You and Lance, hel**lo**?"

"Did you talk to Lance?" JC asked, rearranging his hot dog and ripping off an extraneous piece of bun.

"No," Chris huffed, as if it were obvious. Justin harrumphed obligingly and JC rolled his eyes, picking up his food.

"Ask Lance," he told them, and bit down, ketchup squelching over his thumb. "Good dogs, J," he said, smiling at Justin and his dropped-open mouth. Chris tapped a drink parasol against his lip and squinted at JC thoughtfully, but didn't say anything.

...

"I figured it out," Justin blurted at him three days later, when he was sitting on JC's bed waiting for JC to find the jacket he'd borrowed after the barbecue. JC paused in his closet, then replaced Justin's jacket on the hook and came out. "Excuse me?"

"I figured it out," Justin repeated, standing up in excitement. He looked very pleased with himself. "The thing, that we asked -- that Chris and me asked about."

"Oh?" JC enquired mildly. Justin grinned, sunny and confident.

"Yeah," he said, and kissed JC.

It didn't take very long at all to have Justin naked and stretched out on his bed, and JC lay on top of him and just luxuriated in the way their bodies felt together, all that rich golden-tan skin and firm muscle, Justin's big hands smoothing along his back, perfection times two. "What're you into?" Justin asked breezily, fingers cupping JC's ass, slip-sliding and bold. "I'm up for it, anything."

JC kept himself from rolling his eyes and instead sucked Justin's bottom lip into his mouth, nibbling and licking until he had Justin hard against him, long limbs arching up eagerly. "I'm into you, baby," JC murmured, smiling, and Justin opened his mouth and then whatever he was going to say slid into a soft little "oh," instead.

The submission was short-lived, though, because no sooner did JC start to shift down so he could arrange Justin's legs over his shoulders that Justin sat up halfway, propped on his elbows, and said, "No, wait -- I wanna do you, I wanna be on top."

This time JC did roll his eyes, and Justin made an affronted noise. "I'm good," he insisted. "I can make it really good for you."

JC put one forearm against Justin's collarbones and threw his weight against him, thumping him back down onto the bed. "I know, sugar," he said placatingly, dropping a kiss on Justin's nose. "But I want to do it this way, trust me." He leaned down and licked Justin's mouth, licked his way in and twined their tongues together as he held one of those big big hands and took it down, between Justin's legs. "Fingerfuck yourself for me," JC whispered, and it seemed that Justin was the easily suggestible type because his eyelids fluttered and his breath hitched.

"I --" he started, and JC swooped down to kiss him again. Justin relented for a bit and then shook his head away, determined. "I have -- I brought. Uh. Ummmmm, lube, in my --" He jerked his chin over at their discarded clothes, and JC grinned, looping up Justin's jeans and locating the tube.

"Pretty sure of yourself, Timberlake," he murmured, flipping the tube back and forth in his fingers. Justin grinned, then arched his back as he pushed his fingers deeper. "Jayceeeee," he whimpered, his other hand finding JC's erect cock and wrapping gently around it. "C, c'mon, man...."

"mmmmm." JC took his time, slicking the lube down over Justin's fingers on his cock, sliding his fingers underneath and then abandoning that for Justin's dick. Justin moaned loudly, shamelessly, pumping JC's cock and snapping his hips earnestly, and JC decided they'd both had enough lead-up.

The scratchy noise Justin made when JC pushed into him was even louder than the moaning, and after an initial instinctual moment of terror that somebody might hear them, JC opened his mouth and let himself groan, too, overlaid on Justin's reedy wordless pleas. Justin bucked his hips, bringing his knees up on either side of JC, and started jerking himself off as JC thrust, withdrew, thrust again, gasping at the heat, the clenching tightness around his aching cock. Their voices increased in volume, skirling louder and interspersed with panting and swearing and each others' names, JC's voice diving deeper and harsher and Justin's getting hoarser as they moved faster and faster and hard bodies slapping together, and Justin's sticky free hand smelling like come and oil and clenched in JC's hair, and after they both shouted their climaxes the sound echoed in the room for ages.

The only problem was that Justin kissed JC a lot before JC finally extricated himself from Justin's long clingy arms, citing a pressing need to take a piss before Justin would relent. "Don't take long," Justin muttered as JC fled.

He flushed the toilet and washed his hands and winced at himself in the mirror, and wondered why his stupid turncoat brain had chosen to forget all the times Britney had come and hid with him and Joey, rolling her eyes until they crossed and saying that she just needed to be away from Mr. Romance for a little while before she had a sugar collapse.

It was probably his imagination, but when JC fretfully licked his lips, they tasted more sweet than salt.

...

Lance and Joey were hideously unsympathetic. In fact, they were downright mean about the whole thing.

"Did you learn _nothing_ from me?" Lance asked, holding JC's shoulder in fake concern. "Did you learn nothing from all the Valentines, the midnight phone calls, the rose petals and affirmations?"

"I remembered the affirmations," JC sulked. "The rest I kind of forgot."

Joey sighed and that made JC happy, because if there was anything he knew, it was the sound of Joey relenting. "Look," he said kindly, "what you gotta do is make sure you don't have anything J wants. Like, make yourself totally unappealing to him."

"Not to sound vain," JC said, "but I don't think I can." Lance snorted and went back to flipping through his magazine. Joey plopped down next to JC on the sofa and slung an arm around him.

"That's okay," he said soothingly. "We'll think of something."

...

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you looked at it), Chris had a very keen sense of his strength when he was throwing fists at people.

JC saw the first one coming a split second too late and found himself ducking in what felt like slow-motion, taking the punch on the cheekbone instead of his mouth. Chris cursed and swung with his other fist, but JC was prepared for that one and let it land on his shoulder. Which hurt, but not as much as it could have.

"You fucking moron!" Chris yelled, crowding JC with his body. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Backing up until he hit unyielding wall, JC raised his hands to ward off any more blows and hopefully some of the words. "I didn't mean to upset him," he said, quickly, before Chris decided to smack him again. "Really, I thought he understood, I thought he was cool with it!"

"Cool with it?" Chris repeated, injecting the words with so much sarcasm that JC squirmed. "Is _that_ what you thought? That he would just be 'cool' with one of his closest friends jumping his bones and fucking him senseless?"

"Well, yeah --" JC started, but was cut off by Chris's body slanting heavily onto him and Chris's mouth sinking against his. For a little guy, Chris was fucking _solid_. JC pulled back for a moment before realizing he had nowhere to go, and instead opened his mouth under Chris's lips and teeth.

"'s better," Chris mumbled, and grabbed JC's arm, yanking him over to the sofa. JC's ass hit the back and he bent, Chris's hand splayed against JC's back as he curved over JC, kissing and nipping at his mouth, his chin, his cheek.

"Chris," JC tried, but Chris made an abortive growling noise and pushed and tugged until JC's belly was pressed against the back of the sofa, doubled over, his rigid cock rising hard along it. "Chris," JC said again, only this time it came out as more of a moan than anything, and Chris's stubby smoke-smelling fingers were pushing into his mouth. JC sucked on them eagerly, even that salt-and-ash taste, pressing his teeth into the soft flesh at the sides of Chris's nails.

When Chris took his fingers back and pushed them into JC, two at once, JC's mouth dried up and he made a choked noise that he didn't even recognize as himself. When Chris stopped doing that, pulling his hand out to take a firm hold of JC's cock, dry palm and those two wet fingers, JC's knees buckled. When Chris put his other hand on JC's hip, fingers pressed in so hard that JC could feel the flesh getting soft and bruised under them, he whimpered and wriggled back.

"Y'little slut," Chris said, voice thickly fond, and pushed in, sure and hard and all the way. JC's head strained back, garbled broken sounds coming from his closed-up throat, and then Chris started moving, picking up speed and pounding JC against the back of the sofa, pressing his forehead against JC's back and panting so JC could feel the smooth sharp surfaces of Chris's teeth on his skin. Moaning, JC let himself drape bonelessly over the sofa, chin bumping against the fabric with each deep, jarring thrust, feeling a delicious soreness creep over his body even as sparks and embers stoked in the pit of his stomach, his cock pulsing in Chris's hand, his body thrumming with sensation, reacting shimmeringly to everything Chris did.

He stopped thinking about anything except the sweat drenching his body, dripping from his nose, his hair, the rough raw sound of Chris's throaty growly voice against his back, the utter feeling of satisfaction that sped through him from his head to the tips of his toes when all that sensation finally collected, tightened, released, and the world righted itself again.

...

The sofa was really too narrow for the both of them to fit on it, but Chris seemed to be completely unaware of this and jammed JC practically in between the cushions and the back, sprawling contentedly over the rest. "Was that kinda what you were looking for?" he asked, nipping at JC's ear. JC swatted tiredly at him and stretched, utterly content.

"mmmmm," he purred. "Just about perfect, but Chris --" he frowned, "-- Chris, are you really pissed at me? Is Justin really upset?"

Chris snorted, rubbing his hand along JC's side langorously. "J's fine," he said. "But I'm pissed, you're fuckin' right about that. I had to put up with an hour of him bitching and whining about how hard it is to be hot because you just get used for sex before I took him sneaker shopping and he calmed right down. I doubt he even remembered how you took advantage of his hot self once we got him a nice row of brand new Pumas."

"Awww," JC cooed. "I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"Whatever." Chris yawned widely and reached over to the coffee table, and for once JC heartily approved of Chris's habit of leaving half-drunk glasses of water set out in the living room. "You wanna make it up to me, you can take me out for dinner. I'm in the mood for enchiladas."

"Okay." JC was slightly put out at Chris's dismissal of his suggestive offer. "Chris, you don't think--"

Chris stopped gulping down water to eye JC suspiciously. "You're not getting all relationshippy on me, are you?"

"No!"

"Good." Chris generously gave JC the rest of the water, settling down on one elbow to watch him drink and to play with a strand of JC's hair, slipping it through his fingers with affection. "Because it's way too early in whatever this is for all of that."

JC swallowed and gave the glass back to Chris, smiling when Chris's shoulder cracked as he reached it back onto the table. "Yeah," he murmured, pulling Chris back down. "Way too early. I still have to figure out what exactly I want."

"Fajitas," Chris told him, yawning again. JC thought he might be right.


End file.
